Remember The Night
by ilovesunshine93
Summary: Post-Reichenbach. Sherlolly one-shot. Molly has to deal with a vulnerable and broken Sherlock the night after the fall. Will she be able to do it?


Molly steadied her shaking hands before slotting her keys into the lock. It had been an exhausting day and she wanted nothing more than to soak in a bathtub of warm water and sink into a deep, dreamless sleep. But the tall, lean figure who was close behind her reminded her that her fantasy was impossible. She had agreed to help Sherlock Holmes and she would do anything to make sure he was safe. She turned her key in the lock quickly and realised too late that her flat was in a complete mess.

"It's a little messy. And small." Molly informed Sherlock, embarrassed.

"It's fine, Molly. Better this than going off with _Mycroft_." A slightly disgruntled look appeared on Sherlock's face at the mention of his brother's name. Sherlock had never liked to feel indebted to anyone and the fact that he had to approach Mycroft to help him with his staged death frustrated him greatly. Mycroft had even wanted to house Sherlock before he had his new identity arranged. Unsurprisingly, Sherlock had refused, preferring to stay with Molly instead. But that wasn't to say that Sherlock was completely comfortable with this arrangement either. _I owe her too much for her help with my fall already, _Sherlock thought. He strode into her flat, taking in his new surroundings.

It was, like Molly said, messy and small. There were many coffee mugs placed around the house and numerous romance novels were strewn on her sofa and coffee table. Random pieces of clothing were thrown around the house as well. Sherlock wondered how someone who was so meticulous in her lab work could have a flat as messy as this. He walked over to her sofa and plunked himself on it, wincing from the sudden stab of pain that issued from his broken rib. From the corner of his eyes, Sherlock saw Molly frantically trying to tidy her house. A handsome ginger tabby suddenly jumped to his side, staring at him with large, inquisitive eyes.

"That's Toby. Don't worry about him, he's friendly." Molly smiled, happy to see a familiar face after a stressful day.

Toby stared at Sherlock a moment longer before deciding that he wasn't dangerous. Yawning, it curled up beside Sherlock, who reached out his hand to scratch the cat's ears. Sherlock didn't look up at Molly, preferring to focus his attention on the cat. He felt a growing wealth of emotions that were threatening to consume him. Frowning, he attempted to lock them away in the deep recesses of his mind like he usually did. Except that they didn't want to go away this time. He could feel the beginnings of fear, sadness, worry, anger and remorse gradually chorusing through his veins. The thought of a heartbroken John and Mrs Hudson, and the fact that he had to uncover Moriarty's criminal network before he could make sure his friends we completely safe worried him. He had tried so hard to bottle these emotions up the whole day but now that he was finally safe in his pathologist's home, the dreaded feelings were threatening to overcome him like an impending tsunami. _Stop with the sentiment, _he thought angrily. He tried burying his emotions again.

"Are you hungry? I can make some soup if you are." Molly asked, slightly alarmed by the silence that Sherlock had descended into.

"I'm not hungry."

"Do you want to shower then? I might have some oversized shirts that may fit you and - "

"Molly, I think I just want to rest now." Sherlock replied curtly. He could feel his emotions bubbling to the surface again and desperately wanted to be alone. He didn't want to alarm Molly and he certainly didn't want her to mollycoddle him.

"Oh, alright. Erm, the bedroom is over there." Molly gestured to the corridor.

"The sofa will do."

"But your ribs and bruises..."

"I am fine Molly."

Molly couldn't quite believe her ears. Sherlock was anything but fine. He had prepared something to break his fall earlier but was still badly injured. He had a fractured rib and many bruising which were a deep purple. Molly had winced the first time she saw the dark colour contrasted starkly against his pale skin.

"No you are not! You can't sleep on the sofa with a broken rib!" Molly's voice rose slightly. She was well aware that her sofa was too small for him and if it was going to physically hurt him if he spent the night on it. He wasn't going to be able to turn or lie down comfortably.

"Why not? I am fine on the sofa." Sherlock said defiantly.

"Sherlock, you have to heal!" Molly felt her temper rising. She had to control every fibre of her being to not shout at him. She was completely exhausted and him acting as a petulant child now was not something she wanted to deal with. _Why can't he just take proper care of himself? _She wondered in frustration. _Doesn't he know how much his actions worry those who care about him?_

Sherlock's eyes were fixed on Molly intently as he studied the expression on her face. "You are angry. Why are you angry?" he enquired. He had chosen the sofa because he did not want to feel more indebted to her than he already was – it made him feel weak, and weakness was not something he was used to feeling. He also noted the extra lines under her eyes and knew that Molly was drained. She was going to need a good night's sleep and was probably not going to get it if she slept on her cheap sofa.

"Because the sofa is too small for you and it will hinder your healing process! You can't spend a night on it!"

"Watch me." Sherlock sulked, looking ever so like a petulant child. He could feel himself losing control of his emotions and they were threatening to make him direct all his anger at Molly.

"Sherlock…"

Molly saw it before she experienced it. She noticed the sudden blaze in Sherlock's pale blue eyes and the slight crease of the skin between his eyebrows – he was angry. And she was going to be his punching bag.

"Molly. Leave. Me. Alone. Maybe you should go and read some of your hopeless romantic novels that I see lying around. An ardent fan of Victorian literature I see? Or why don't you make it a fun night by whipping up a dish in a kitchen that you so obviously don't use at all? Judging by the fact that it seems to be the only clean place in this house." Sherlock rattled on curtly and cruelly.

Molly felt a punch to her stomach. Hot tears welled up in her eyes and threatened to spill out. But she wouldn't let them. She wouldn't cry in front of Sherlock. She knew that he was experiencing a horrible time but did it allow him to be this way? _He always says such horrible things. _She swallowed a few times and took a couple of deep breaths to compose herself. "Fine. I'll just leave you to it then." She walked quickly into her room, slamming the door loudly.

"Molly..." Sherlock ruffled his hair in frustration. Those hurtful words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. He hadn't meant to say those things to her. Something in him snapped and he just couldn't control himself. _I've hurt her again. _He felt deep remorse flowing through him. Sherlock was fond of her and after seeing her help him unconditionally with Moriarty, he had felt his affection for her deepen considerably. The trust between them was special and Sherlock knew Molly was his friend. She counted and he was going to fix this situation.

Molly sat on her bed, finally allowing her tears to flow freely in the comfort and secrecy of her bedroom. She breathed a sigh of frustration. _Control yourself Molly, _she reprimanded herself. _You know this is how Sherlock is like. _But her exhaustion weakened her will power. She wondered how much more of his meanness she could tolerate before she would finally snap. She laid on her bed, staring into oblivion and wishing that Toby was beside her. A sudden loud vibration from her handphone startled her.

_**I am sorry, Molly Hooper. Will you forgive me? **_**– SH**

* * *

Sherlock tried lying on the sofa. It quickly became apparent that his legs were too long and every time he tried to turn his body, a sharp stab of pain emanated from his ribs. He gave up and decided to check on his bruises instead. He was just in the process of tenderly prodding the side of his stomach when he heard the soft turn of Molly's bedroom doorknob. Sherlock breathed a sigh of relieve.

Molly came out of her room tentatively, anger still apparent on her face. She noticed the grimace on Sherlock's face and the anger she felt dissipated immediately. She quickly went to sit beside him, concern reflected in her warm, brown eyes. "Are they still very painful?"

"Just a bit. I am sorry." Sherlock replied sincerely.

"I know you are."

They sat there in silence for a long time, neither of them knowing what to say. But the silence was oddly comforting and Sherlock felt himself relaxing. The emotions in him were starting to subside and his mind became clearer. He revisited the incident with Molly in his head and realised that something was bothering him. "Molly, why were you so angry when I had refused the bed? I thought you'd prefer the bed."

Molly looked at him in amazement. She noticed the confusion in his eyes and the eagerness reflected in his face, waiting for her answer. She became conscious of the fact that Sherlock just could not understand the meaning of love. _Yet,_ she hoped fervently. It was something he brushed away as mere sentiment and a weakness. That would explain his constant ramblings whenever Mycroft tried to help him out of concern for his safety.

"Because I care about you Sherlock. And I don't want to see you in more pain." Molly felt her cheeks turn a deep red when the words left her mouth. She had never been so open with him about her feelings before. But for some reason, she felt a lot more comfortable with him now. He had allowed her to see him at his most vulnerable, when he was the most broken. He trusted her and this had elevated her confidence when she was speaking to him.

In spite of himself, Sherlock felt a warm sensation when he heard those words. He was so apt at barricading his feelings behind a stone wall that people rarely manage to influence him emotionally. He could not understand why she would care for him. Throughout his entire life, he was branded a freak or a weirdo. People laughed at him and didn't like to be around him. But Molly, this woman whom he went to when he was just a shadow of himself, actually cared so much about him. _Why?_

"Will you please take the bed?" she asked again.

Sherlock gave her a small nod of assent.

* * *

It was well past midnight and Molly was curled up on her lumpy sofa in a deep sleep. Sherlock was in Molly's bedroom, the door slightly ajar just in case he needed anything. The entire flat was quiet save for Toby, who was busy trying to catch an insect that had flew in from the window, his bright green eyes gleaming with excitement. Suddenly, a loud moan drifted from the bedroom. Molly stirred slightly in her sleep before opening her eyes. When she realised that the moan had came from her bedroom, she sprung out of her sofa in a state of panic.

"Sherlock!" she cried, pushing the bedroom door roughly. Fear clouded her eyes when she saw him.

Sherlock was on the edge of the bed. Sweat was dripping profusely from his face and his shirt was completely soaked. He had his fingers pressed to his temples and his eyes were closed. What scared Molly was the fact that he was rocking back and forth, seemingly in an attempt to calm down.

"Sherlock?" she whispered. "Are you alright?"

"Just a dream," he replied curtly, still not removing his fingers from his temples.

Molly moved over to the bed and hesitated before sitting down. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No." Sherlock kept rocking. He needed to clear the memory of his dream – delete it from his mind. But the images had been so vivid that he was going to need some time. He could still see John's anguished face and Moriarty's triumphant and alive one burning in his retina.

"Sherlock you're shaking." Molly said gently. She wanted to reach out and touch his hand but controlled herself. She knew that he hated any physical contact that was not initiated by him.

"Yes. Mere effects of a nightmare, Molly. Or haven't you experienced one before?"

Molly had to suppress a sigh. He was being defensive and by extension, mean again. "Well, it helps to talk about what's scaring you."

"I am not scared! And stop looking at me like that. There is nothing wrong with me!" Sherlock stated indignantly, his voice rising with every word.

Molly's eyes widened in surprise. _He actually thinks that being scared his wrong. _"Sherlock, it's normal to feel afraid. Actually, I'd be worried if you weren't."

"Why?" he asked, confusion settling on his face.

"Because you've just experienced a lot of stress and trauma. And you're worried about what's going to happen to John and Mrs Hudson. And there's Moriarty'snetwork…Sherlock, there's a lot of things to be scared about." Molly trailed off, unsure if she had just made the matter worse.

Sherlock was surprised when he heard Molly state all that he was feeling so succinctly. Yet again, she was able to deduce his emotions. _She can see me. _Instead of feeling exposed, Sherlock realised that he didn't actually mind Molly knowing about his feelings. He knew that she was not one to judge him.

"What do you do when you're afraid?" he enquired softly, his voice barely audible.

"Warm milk." Molly said without a second thought.

"What?"

Molly felt her face burning. She realised that warm milk sounded like something a child would drink. "I er…usually drink a glass of warm milk. Do you want some?" she asked, sounding more confident than she felt. She expected Sherlock to laugh at her offer or make some cruel deduction about her habits. But he surprised her by giving a small nod.

Molly soon returned to the bedroom with a glass of warm milk and two sleeping pills. She figured that Sherlock was going to need some help in sleeping for a while. She saw that he had removed his sweat-soaked shirt and was looking a lot more peaceful than moments ago. He mumbled a thank you and gulped down his milk and pills. It took everything Molly had to not jump forward and cradle him in her arms. She had never seen him look so lost and confused before and it made her want to protect him. _Stop it Molly, _she berated herself. _He will think that you're a lunatic. _Instead, she satisfied herself by holding one of his hands. She knew that he would be drowsy soon and his mental capabilities would not be at their optimum. _He'd be too sleepy to care._

Sherlock soon felt the effect of the pills kick in and he was starting to get drowsy. His mind felt cloudy and he laid down on the bed, his eyelids drooping slowly. He felt a warm hand holding his and realised that Molly had taken hold of it. He was surprised that he quite enjoyed her warm touch and decided to let her hold his hand while he drifted off to sleep.

"Molly?"

"Yes?"

"Do you want to sleep on the bed too?"

"What? No of course not!" the shock in her voice was apparent. He can just imagine her blushing furiously.

"Why not? There is more than enough space and your sofa is only suitable for a cat to sleep on."

Molly sighed. Even in his drowsy state, his criticising skills were working perfectly.

"Oh. You don't want to because it's one of those intimate things?" Sherlock asked, his words slightly slurring.

"Yes it is."

"I don't care Molly."

"Well I do. Go to sleep Sherlock."

They remained silent for the next few minutes and Molly thought that he had fallen asleep. She was just about to let go out his hand when he mumbled her name again.

"What is it, Sherlock?"

"You smell like cherries. I hope you have another shampoo that I can use Molly. I don't fancy smelling like cherries tomorrow."

"I think I have a mint flavoured one," she smiled.

"Good."

Molly let out a soft, sweet laugh. Drowsy Sherlock was the funniest thing she had seen. Her heart swelled when she saw that he had finally fallen asleep, his chest rising and falling deeply. He looked so innocent when he slept, angelic even. She bent down and brushed a few stray curls from his face before giving him a tender kiss on his forehead. She knew that he would probably cringe if he were awake. _Good thing he's fallen into such a deep sleep. _Hoping that he would not be haunted by anymore nightmares tonight, Molly turned off the lights and closed the bedroom door softly.


End file.
